


Devils In The Details

by bluflamingo



Category: Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011)
Genre: Animal Transformation, Gen, Mission Fic, Multi, Pack Cuddles, Recovery, black widow interrogation tenchniques
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 07:11:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2804000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluflamingo/pseuds/bluflamingo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The team's back in Croatia for a mission, and Will's still questioning his life choices, even as he knits himself deeper into the team-pack-family he's joined</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devils In The Details

**Author's Note:**

  * For [james](https://archiveofourown.org/users/james/gifts).



> Some violence described, but nothing graphic enough for the warning in my opinion. James asked for post-movie, family, and some 'what if they were wolves as well as IMF agents.'

Will has a thing about – well, okay, he has a thing about a lot of stuff, but he tends to throw it under the general heading of 'details.' He has a thing about details; tracking them, knowing them, remembering them, making sure everyone else knows them... It made him a good analyst, and, first time around, it made him both good in the field and, according to his original team when they'd been drinking, _fucking annoying as shit_ in the field sometimes. 

He's not sure what it means for his new team, yet. They've only been on a handful of missions together, and Will's still telling himself, every time the mission notification comes through, that he can always go back to being an analyst after this one, it's not like he promised Ethan he'd stay with them forever.

He believes himself less and less with every mission, and figures that's probably a good thing. Give it a year and he won't be wondering if he made the right decision. Maybe then he won't wake up gasping for breath in a dark hotel room, chased by phantom images of his team dead because of his mistake.

"Hey." Benji rubs his cheek against Will's bare stomach, like he's scent marking, and speaks low enough that Ethan and Jane, sacked out still furry at the foot of the bed, don't even stir. "All fine."

"I know." Will reaches down to ruffle Benji's hair, then just sort of – doesn't take his hand back. He can feel warmth, living skin over unbroken bones and muscles, and it's easier, like that, to remember that his first team didn't die, and his new team haven't died either. No-one died except the bad guys (and Leonid, who wasn't a bad guy, just in the wrong place at the wrong time, bleeding out in a hotel corridor – and why is it always hotels? just once, Will would like to go some place with shiny faucets and thick towels and not have to think about blood and bodies...)

"Will." Benji nips Will, just sharp enough to feel, and when Will looks down, Benji's looking back at him with animal eyes, bright in the darkness. "Stay here."

"Sorry." It's a bad night, the latest in a string of bad nights since they got sent to Croatia. It's always Benji who wakes up with Will, who curls up, worried and close beside him, like he's trying to make a physical barrier between Will and his nightmares. His memories.

It's a species thing, Will's pretty sure. Foxes seem to make up a good chunk of every intelligence agency, especially in the kinds of roles he and Benji had before, and prior to this, every team Will's been part of has been mostly foxes. Settling into an even split of foxes and wolves pushed them into a team of two pairs in the beginning, and sometimes, they drop back into that pattern, usually without noticing. 

"Sorry," Will says again. He doesn't want to get up, not with his team close by and breathing, but the dream is still clinging to him, and he knows he won't sleep, not yet.

Benji watches him for a long moment, then shifts up to kiss Will, brief and affectionate. "Got an idea," he says. Will blinks, and Benji's turned fox, one paw digging into Will's ribs. Benji touches his nose to Will's, just a suggestion. Will doesn't really need to even think about it; he shifts and touches his nose to Benji's in return. 

They nudge their way into the warm, solid heat of their team, and when Will closes his eyes, he can almost believe it'll all be fine.

*

They have a plan. It's even a good plan, apart from how Will hates it, or at least hates his part in it. His old team were intelligence, surveillance, protection, is the thing, and then he was an analyst, and even now, when he's in the field, it's backup to Jane or Ethan, silently being basically himself. 

"I'm not –" Will shakes his head, stuck for how to explain so he doesn't sound like he just doesn't want to do it. Because the thing is – the thing is that he's spent a long time training his brain to follow all the details, to keep track of everything that might go wrong, and now it's a part of him that he can't switch off. Which is mostly good, but is also, if he's going to pretend to be someone else, actually really not that good.

And put like that, it sounds like he's looking for excuses not to do it; who doesn't want an undercover who can see all the angles, right?

"We need Benji here, on the computers and the cameras," Ethan says, a little too gently for Will to be entirely comfortable, especially with the intense way Ethan is watching, like he knows exactly what Will's thinking, exactly how much he wants to crawl out of his skin – both skins – if it'll get him out of the country he never wanted to come back to. "Jane's met our arms-dealer before, and I know the technology."

"I know," Will says. He can feel the three of them looking at him, sympathetic to how miserable he must look, and he wishes he'd said no and gone back to being an analyst. 

"I trust you," Ethan says. "I know you can do this."

*

Will's grabbed before he's twenty feet inside the loading dock of the hotel, and marched down to a windowless ex-closet that is probably supposed to say terrifying-den-of-arms-dealers but actually says more I've-seen-too-many-Vegas-movies.

Of course, then they find his ear piece, the backup weapon he was hoping they wouldn't find, and the tracker in his pocket. And then they chain him to a chair and beat him up for a while.

They agreed on an hour, and it's been twenty-seven minutes. There's the door, obviously, and the ceiling looks like tiles, not plaster, so that would be option 2. Will's gun is shoved in one corner of the empty room, but his back-up got pocketed, and neither of the guys hitting him is armed. On the other hand, he's not sure who has the key to the padlocks, and they know what they're doing, so they chained too far up his wrists for him to pick the locks.

The guy on the right backhands Will hard enough to jerk his whole body to the side. It takes Will a second to shake it off; when he does, the other guy is kneeling in front of him, smiling like Will might've forgotten they just spent twenty-nine minutes hitting him. "Let's start with the basic questions. Who are you working for?"

This is why Will's in a windowless room, getting smacked around and trying to remember that he isn't IMF Agent William Brandt, he's a medium-high level guy with a rival arms dealer, except under that he is still Agent Brandt, needs to give them just enough to get what his team need in return.

He shakes his head, and gets back-handed again. "Who are you working for? Why are you here?"

They hit him again. He tastes blood. Thirty-one minutes. Is that long enough? If he wasn't who he is, would he give up the information now? What if it's too soon? What if Jane's held up somehow, and he caves too early and by the time he can make the hand-off, they've knocked him out. What if he waits, and they knock him out before he even gets anything?

Something solid cracks against his thigh, hard enough that if they'd aimed for his knee, they'd have shattered his kneecap.

What if he makes a mistake, and someone dies for real this time?

"Boss sent me." The words slur into each other, but it's enough to buy Will a few seconds reprieve. 

"And who would that be?"

Will could strike out right now. He knows exactly the angle he'd need to bring his interrogator down with him. He tenses, ready to do it – wanting to do it, because he's an IMF agent and his job is to get free and clear.

Instead, he channels the Pierce Brosnan era of James Bond movies and says, "You wouldn't know him," with the best smirk he can manage. 

"Gotta be Luria," the other guy says. "Who else would be this confident?"

"This stupid," Number Two corrects. Will swallows blood and doesn't smile at the irony. "Who are you meeting?"

Twenty-six minutes till the hour is up. Will says, "We're just having coffee," and bites down a shout when they hit him again. 

*

Will's countdown is at three minutes when he hears the familiar cadence of Jane's heels over the ragged sound of his own breathing. He's never been so glad to have something go off early.

Both men move away, the interrogator moving to open the door, the heavy wiping down his bloody hands with an incongruous white handkerchief. Will forces his eyes all the way open, and concentrates hard on not looking at the blood and broken bones of his left hand. 

"-what happens to those who cross me," Coughlan says as he leads Jane into the room. He doesn't fit at all, tall, thin, every hair in place, every crease perfect in his suit. "My people tracked him here; we believe he is working for Luria."

Now that is just a blatant lie; they practically fell over him, no tracking required. This probably isn't the moment to mention that. 

"Impressive work," Jane says. Her eyes slide over Will, too fast to take anything much in, except for how Will knows she's cataloguing everything, ready to report back.

"A moment," Coughlan says. Will half-expects him to use the moment to have someone hit Will again. Instead, he steps out into the corridor, taking both of Will's guards with him. Will grabs the moment to sign everything he's had beaten into him, awkward with only his right hand, and even that chained down.

The guards aren't far enough away to risk more than that, but Jane catches Will's eye and mouths _okay?_

Will twitches his left thumb – the only part of that hand he can currently move without screaming – and mouths _don't tell Ethan_ back to her. 

The guards step back in before she can respond, Coughlan gesturing for Jane to follow him out. As she turns, Will catches her scent, just for a second, a brief burst of memories and team and comfort and family. The shiver of the change slides over his skin, and he wants more than anything to let it take him, to follow the smell of safety and Jane out of there.

The door closes between them, and Will breathes, pushing the fox down again. 

"So-" The interrogator crouches in front of Will again – "My boss' new friend had some interesting things to say about you."

*

Will's in a weird, floaty space when he hears the door open again. He can't open his right eye any more, and what he can see is blurry, but he knows those boots, same as he knew Jane's heels. 

"They're gone," he manages when the sound of Ethan moving stops. Time's gone fuzzy in a way that he's trying to ignore, anxiety clawing at him every time he thinks about losing track, but it's been a while. He thinks they knocked him out before they left, or maybe he just doesn't remember them leaving.

"Benji's got eyes," Ethan says, coming closer. His hand – left hand, he's still holding his gun – brushes carefully against Will's aching, swollen face. "They really did a number on you."

Will tips his head, just enough to catch Ethan's scent. In return, Ethan slips something into Will's ear, and Will hears Benji saying, "Whatever happened to just asking politely?" and Jane, sounding amused, saying, "Kids these days, huh?"

Smiling hurts a lot, but not enough for Will to stop.

*

Will doesn't register that Ethan's helping him climb into a car until Jane's hands are cool and gentle against his face, her voice up close saying, "That looks like it hurts."

Will's entire face feels bruised and stiff. He blinks, tries to focus on her, and says, "Ow," with almost no actual voice behind it. 

"You didn't tell me they broke his hand," Ethan says. He must be up front, because they're moving, though it's weird to be in a moving vehicle with Ethan Hunt and not be taking wild corners at inappropriate speeds. Will squints enough to bring the inside of the vehicle into focus, and discovers that Benji isn't with them. 

"No, I didn't." Jane rubs her thumb carefully across Will's black eye, like a promise and a secret. "Hulk, we're twenty minutes out."

Will breathes a faint laugh at Benji's exasperated squawking – Jane picked the call signs, and Benji'd just looked at her when she told him, like he didn't think she was mocking him, but didn't one hundred per cent believe that she meant it when she said it was all about how he'd take on anyone to protect his team. 

"He's still breathing, right?" Benji asks eventually, winding down the rant. 

Will's leaning into Jane, feeling his pulse in every broken bone in his hand, and seriously wishing he could pass out, or at least shift now instead of waiting till they're back at the hotel. Despite all that, he is, indeed, still breathing. "Right here," he says, and then, because it's true and he's safe and he can't help himself, "Hurts."

Benji's tiny, wounded noise and the way Jane's arm tightens around him makes him wish he hadn't, and the sudden turn Ethan makes with an abrupt, "Shortcut," makes him _really_ wish he hadn't. 

"I know," Jane says. "I can give you a shot now, take you to the nearest ER and get your hand set. Say the word."

Will really, really wants to say yes. The shot's morphine, and morphine makes him sleepy and spaced out, which sounds perfect. Except that, if he gets his hand set and cast while he's human, he has to stay like that till it's mostly healed, and he aches enough to know that the healing will take a while. If he waits, let's them set his paw instead, the burst of energy that comes with the change will speed up the entire healing process, and he'll be good to shift back in a couple of days, maybe less. 

He closes his eyes, thinks of every mission that's ended with the four of them in a soft pile of fur and paws and blissed out safety, and tells himself that, given the way Ethan drives, he can have that much sooner than he can have any kind of treatment in human form.

Twelve minutes to the hotel.

*

Everyone talked – because _everyone_ talked about Ethan Hunt, even to Will when he just wanted to dive into intelligence analysis and block out the world – about how Ethan Hunt was a cool, badass, extremely prone to major property damage, IMF agent. No-one talked about how he fussed, in a cool, badass, thankfully not too prone to major property damage kind of way.

"You should really eat something." Ethan frowns down at Will, who's curled on the bed and wishing he could pass out.

He shakes his head, just enough for it to be visible. "Can't chew." 

"Something soft. The hotel could send up some soup."

Out in the main room, Will can hear Benji confirming their information transfer went through with Yusuf, and in the bathroom, the splash of water on tiles as Jane showers off the op. He loves Ethan – loves all of his team – but he can't deal with Ethan's fussing. "Gonna change now." He reaches out with his good hand, catching at Ethan's T-shirt. "C'mere."

"Will..."

Will tugs as hard as he can, which admittedly isn't very hard. Ethan takes a half-step closer anyway. "C'mere. Change."

Ethan sighs, but Will doesn't care, because Ethan also lowers himself carefully onto the bed, close enough to touch. They both breathe, in, out, and then there's a wolf curled around Will and nosing at his hair. Will closes his eyes and shifts as well. The full body pain eases up so fast that Will shakes with it, feeling washed out and almost high. 

He has to forcefully remind himself that he isn't actually healed as he rolls over and curls up in the curve of Ethan's warm, solid wolf body. Everything is so much better like this, and then Jane wanders in, already shifted. She prowls the foot of the bed, puts both forefeet up to sniff at Will, then jumps up, landing light as a cat and settling into a mirror curve to Ethan. Will's trapped and held between the two of them, and it's almost enough. 

Ethan raises his head and barks sharply in the direction of the door.

"I'm coming!" Benji calls back. "You said you'd wait."

Will's face doesn't feel like all the bones are grinding against each other any longer. He takes advantage to call out, the words lost in translation to Jane and Ethan: "We're waiting. Come here."

"I'm going to – someone should –" Benji's muttering comes closer, preceding him into the room, but it's all meaningless, since he's already removed his shoes and socks. He reaches carefully over Jane, who's breathing slow and deep like maybe the pretense of sleep will lull Will there as well, and strokes Will's ears. It still feels weird, the bond of team and pack and family not quite enough to over-ride the taboo against human-form touching animal-form. It still feels nice, alongside the weird. 

Will closes one eye and uses the other to stare at Benji, who shuffles a little and says, "Right, yes, I should –" then gives up on speaking and just sits on the edge of the bed to shift. 

Jane rolls back far enough for Benji to snuggle in with Will, and Ethan moves closer until he's pressed up against Will. They forgot to turn out the light, but with his eyes closed, Will can hardly tell.

For the first time since they landed in Croatia, Will's brain eases down into something like peace. He closes his eyes, and sleeps.


End file.
